


Common Cause

by DesertRaven



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But this is Garlemald, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Gaius/WoL, F/M, Imperialism bad, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PraeU, this is crack of the highest order, this is my emotional support ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:33:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertRaven/pseuds/DesertRaven
Summary: **on hiatus**What if the Warrior of Light took Gauis's offer in the Praetorium?
Relationships: Gaius van Baelsar/Warrior of Light
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhela, now with 80% less trauma!

“And what of you, adventurer? Will you not consider making common cause with me? With your powers joined to mine, we might do much for this realm. Together, we could bring order to Eorzea, and usher in a lasting peace.”

For the first time since starting out on this gods damned journey, Rhela hesitates. Isn’t peace the goal? Isn’t peace the entire point? If she fights this Garlean here and now, even if she wins, more will spring up in his place. The war will continue forever, and she will continue to be thrust into it whether she wants to fight or not. That is how it has been since the Scions found her. They’ve taken her from a simple healer, a poor kid from Ul’dah just wanting to see the world and earn some gil, to the Warrior of Light, throwing her against primals and Garleans alike to their own ends.

She lowers her staff, but only slightly, still ready to defend herself if needed.

“If… if I said yes?”

No one speaks. From the corner of her eye, she can see Cid’s absolutely dumbfounded expression. She doesn’t take her eyes off the Legatus in front of her.

“Lay down your weapon and we can talk.”

She crouches to place her staff on the ground at her feet and straightens up, unarmed, foolishly trusting that he is sincere in his offer. Fire blazes through her shoulder a moment later, exploding outward and knocking the breath from her lungs in a gasp. The last thing she’s aware of before the world goes black is Cid shouting her name.

———

“... clean shot, through and through. She is recovering quickly.”

Rhela groans as she comes to, and immediately regrets having woken up at all. Everything hurts. Her left arm is useless, dead weight. Throat dry and scratchy. Even her eyes hurt. She isn’t physically restrained, or at least she assumes she isn’t, she’s too weak to check, but she can feel cold metal against her neck.

She blinks groggily, adjusting to the unnaturally bright lights. Figures come into focus, one on either side of her. One in white, probably a medicus, the other in armor, minus his helm. She hazards a guess at the identity of the latter.

“You fucking shot me.” Her voice is weak, more of a whispered groan than anything.

“Hmph.” She hears the hint of a smirk in that voice, recognizable even without the modulation of his helm. “You’ll recover.”

Rhela doesn’t fight when the medicus brings a cup to her lips, thankful for anything to drink even if she doesn’t know what it is. Fortunately, it smells and tastes like water. She gulps down all of it, hardly pausing to take a breath. If they wanted her dead, she would be already. No need to shoot her, patch her up, and then poison her.

“You know I was going to come willingly, right?”

“Rest. We will speak later.”

Not like she has any choice, she thinks bitterly. But she knows she needs it. She watches his retreating form, somehow still not regretting her decision. Hopefully Cid and the others made it out alright. They may write her off as a traitor, but she doesn’t hold any ill will toward them. In the end, this may work out for everyone. No primals, no war with the Empire. Just peace, order. When she thinks about it that way, it doesn’t seem so bad.

The next time she wakes, it’s only her and the medicus in the room. Her head is significantly more clear this time, too. Rhela takes stock of her body. Left arm and shoulder still hurt, everything else more or less functioning. She leans on her right side to pull herself to sitting, groaning as she does.

“Easy.”

She tries to glare, but it comes off as more of a grimace. “Take this stupid collar off.”

The man gives her a wry smile, and she notices for the first time that he’s Elezen, not Garlean.

“We both know I can’t do that.”

He sets a folded pile of clothes on the edge of the bed, nodding toward her as he does.

“Think you can manage getting dressed by yourself, champion?”

“Where are my robes?”

“I had to cut them off to get to your wound.”

Her lip curls at the Imperial uniform. She may have been willing to cooperate, but she has to draw the line somewhere. Rhela slides off the bed and grabs the pants, happy to realize they’re her tights and will actually fit. She finds her boots beside the bed, struggles to pull them on with the use of only one arm, but she manages. The elezen looks her over skeptically.

“We have a bit of a walk, are you sure you don’t want the tunic?”

She shakes her head and he shrugs, either not caring or smart enough to not pick battles he won’t win.

A ridiculous number of doors, hallways, security checks, and lift rides later, a final door slides open to what appears to be an office. The size of the office, and the distinctive armor on a stand near the door, give away the identity of the man behind the desk, even though she hasn’t seen him clearly. He’s… more attractive than she would have expected. Darker skin than she would have thought, for a Garlean, but the third eye is unmistakable. Close cropped black hair, the slightest hint of grey around the temples. Strong features, striking in their intensity. The guard who escorted her in pauses to salute.

“My lord, your…” even behind the mask she can tell the man is looking her over and sneering. “Guest.”

Gaius nods, does not bother standing up. “Thank you, you may leave.”

Rhela sits without waiting for an invitation to do so, but not before catching the way his eyes linger a bit too long on her bare skin.

“If you make a habit of running around half clothed, I will have to find somewhere else to keep you.”

“Your personal chambers, perhaps.” She says it with a tone of disinterest, only half sure she’s joking. His expression says he’s not certain, either. “What happened to the others I was with when you shot me?”

“The Eorzean Alliance has retreated, for the moment.”

“Cid?”

He studies her from across his desk, pale eyes - she can’t tell the exact color in the artificial light - searching her for something. Long enough that she shifts uncomfortably despite her projected bravado.

“For one so eager to switch sides, you are surprisingly concerned about your former allies.”

The enormity of what she’s done hits her. Rhela hadn’t been particularly invested in this fight to begin with; not her fight. Warrior of Light, Champion of Eorzea. She had never wanted the titles. It had been an accident that the Scions found and recruited her, and then dragged her into every fight across Eorzea. But she’s left them to their fate. Worse, she’s all but joined the Empire.

“I don’t hate them. This just... isn’t my war.” Her voice is quiet, and she isn’t sure what compels her honesty.

“It became your war when you entered Castrum Meridianum at the head of an Alliance force, and again when you surrendered.”

She stares at the edge of the desk, unseeing, considering her options from here. If she’s surrendered, she’s a prisoner. So what is he planning on doing with her?

“So, what now?”

“I imagine you’d like to heal your shoulder.”

Rhela looks up at him warily. Last time he offered her something, she got shot. He stands, turning to a cabinet at the side of the room. An electronic beeping - she recognizes the sound from the access terminals - and then a mechanical locking sound, and he removes her staff, placing it on the desk. She starts to reach for it, but he stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“If you attempt anything other than healing yourself, that collar can disable you near instantly.”

“Anyone ever tell you you have trust issues?”

Despite her scowl, he chuckles.

“Frequently.”

He releases her wrist and she takes hold of her staff. Thanks to whatever gifts she already possesses she heals quickly anyway, but a quick spell sends aether through her system and restores her to almost normal. With a sigh she rolls her shoulder and sets the staff back on the desk. She’ll bear the scars, but otherwise is no worse off than before he shot her. Gaius replaces it in the cabinet, moves past her to the door without a word. She follows him out, still wondering what his intentions are but sensing that she’s not going to get any answers for the moment.

“Someone will show you to your room.” He looks her over again. “And find you suitable clothes.”

“I’m not wearing a uniform.”

He hums in response and turns back into his office, leaving her standing in the hall with the guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this going anywhere? WHO KNOWS. Not me.
> 
> Join me, and all the lovely people who make these fics possible, on Discord! [Emet-Selch’s Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/K9PW9qv)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really just exists so I can write Legatus Gaius.

They don’t put her in a prison cell, but it might as well be one. Everything that can be bolted to the floor, is, and there is nothing she could use as a weapon. The bed and a single small table are the only furnishings. Recessed shelves that she imagines are meant to hold clothes. Out of curiosity, she tests the door and finds it won’t open from within. Not surprising. Nor is the lack of windows. Even the bathroom mirror is metal, not glass.

With absolutely nothing in the room to occupy her, Rhela showers. The water never rises above lukewarm, but at least someone did her the courtesy of leaving soap. When she grabs for the towel the fabric is so coarse she regrets having done it at all. She grimaces, but dries herself off and wanders back into the main room to flop onto the bed. This is not at all what she had in mind when she had surrendered. She’d go insane. For all her protests about being dragged all over Eorzea, she wasn’t made to be confined. Are they just going to keep her locked up in here? 

With no natural light, and no chronometer, it’s impossible to tell time. It could be hours or minutes before someone arrives with clothes - carbon weave pants, uniform tunics, of course - and an indeterminate amount of time later a different person arrives with food.

Days pass like this, with her marking time based on the meals delivered. Rhela manages some semblance of routine around the meals, though the only things she can really do are exercise, shower, and sleep. She has no right to, but she worries about Cid, about the Alliance fighters who had been with her, about all those who had been waiting, expecting her to defeat the Ultima Weapon. Wonders if the news of her betrayal has gotten out or if that’s been hidden for the sake of morale. Wonders if they think she’s dead.

On the fourth or fifth day - difficult to know with certainty, since she doesn’t know when she got to the room in the first place - the guard who delivers her morning meal waits. She watches him warily as she sits on the floor and finishes her food.

“If you’re going to stand there you might as well talk to me.”

No response. He doesn’t even look at her.

“Can I at least get a book or something?”

Again, nothing. She finishes eating in silence.

“Get dressed and come with me.”

Rhela stands and sets her tray on the table, gestures to the door. “Let’s go, then.”

Finally, the man seems to falter. He looks her over quickly, from bare feet to carbonweave leggings to chest wrap. “I was told to make sure you’re fully clothed.”

She shrugs. “Not wearing a uniform. We can go like this or you can tell him I’m not coming.”

She feels a little bit bad for him as she watches him weigh the alternatives. If he’ll be in more trouble for bringing her half dressed or for not bringing her at all. She still doesn’t budge, not until he sighs, his shoulders slumping, and gestures to the door.

The pity she feels for him is the only thing that keeps her from bolting the moment the door slides open. Not that she thinks she’d make it out, just for the sake of burning off energy. Despite the stares from everyone they pass en route, she enjoys the walk. Anything other than her room is welcome, at this point.

Her escort pauses at the door to Gaius’s office, looks her over again, and sighs dejectedly before knocking. At the call to enter, he opens the door and waves her in, closes it behind her.

The Legatus glances up from a stack of papers and for a moment she thinks she sees a smirk, but then he looks back down and gestures toward a chair. She drops into it, crossing her arms over her chest. When he doesn’t say anything, she fills the silence.

“I’m bored and the food here sucks. You could at least let me out of my room a couple times a day.”

He sighs and sits back in his chair, as if she’s interrupting him and he hadn’t summoned her in the first place.

“You are in no position to make demands.”

“I disagree. Consider your options, Van Baelsar.

You could attempt to force me into the military, where I will refuse to fight or follow orders. You have ways of making conscripts cooperate, I’m sure, but then you lose my strength.

You could keep me as a prisoner of war, attempt to use me as leverage against the Eorzean Alliance. But what a waste of time and energy that would be, to simply trade their champion back to them.

That leaves you with… what, exactly? Public execution, perhaps? I suppose killing me might serve to demoralize the Eorzeans. If their strongest couldn’t stand against the Empire, what hope do they have? But then, there’s always the chance that you make a martyr of me. Someone for resistance fighters to rally behind.”

Gaius drums his fingers on his desk, staring at her with eyes slightly narrowed. After a moment, he shakes his head, mouth turning up in a half smile.

“You are… not what I expected.”

“Regretting recruiting me already?”

“Hardly.”

She blinks at him in surprise. She isn’t sure what she expected from that little monologue, but this isn’t it.

“What are your demands, then, Champion of Eorzea?”

Her mouth opens, closes again. She didn’t think she’d get this far, and she doesn’t know how to answer.

“No prepared answer this time?”

Rhela shrugs. “You could start by using my name, if you even know it.”

“Rhela Oronir. Twenty three years old, born in Kugane to Sechen Oronir, father unknown. Mother was a companion to a merchant. Moved to Ul’dah just before the calamity. Registered and removed from the Thaumaturge’s guild before relocating to Gridania and becoming a conjurer. Eikon Slayer, Imperial nuisance, and pain in my ass.”

He says the last without any real bite and she laughs, even though she can feel the slight blush in her cheeks. He hadn’t looked at anything other than her, which means that he just remembers all of that information. Why would he care to know so much about her?

“Let me start training. Give me something to do.”

“Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in fighting.”

“That isn’t what I said. I won’t join the ranks. As you may have noticed, I don’t do well with following orders.”

She can tell he’s actually considering it, or at least pretending to.

“You expect me to let you train and turn you loose on a battlefield, answering to no one?”

“I’ll answer to you.”

Rhela looks away, chewing on her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that, and in doing it has exposed entirely too much of herself. Despite their limited interactions to this point, she likes Gaius. Respects him. She can feel him staring at her.

“You took down half a castrum as a healer. I would be curious to see what you can do with an actual weapon.”

She meets his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “I think that says more about your soldiers than it does about my skill.” He huffs a laugh, even though it’s at his expense, and she gets the sense that she’s not completely wrong. “What’s happening with the Alliance?”

He shakes his head and gestures to the door. “Enjoy your walks, champion. Try not to cause too much distraction.”

It’s as much as she’s going to get for the moment, but at least she isn’t going to be confined to that room any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me, and all the lovely people who make these fics possible, on Discord! [Emet-Selch’s Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/K9PW9qv)


	3. Chapter 3

The guard from breakfast doesn’t return with the afternoon or evening meals, but he does come back the next morning. And the morning after that. And so on for several days. Rhela wonders if he volunteered or got stuck with her, but he’s decent company either way. Although she still doesn’t have freedom, her prison has expanded to include an interior training yard, which is usually empty.

Hector something or other - she hadn’t bothered remembering his title and he didn’t seem to mind - is half Garlean, half Ala Mhigan, and an incredibly fast runner. The perimeter of the yard is about a third of a malm all the way around, and she tries to race him the third day out. She’s soundly beat, but she doesn’t mind. He keeps pace with her while she runs, and is at least willing to talk to her if she doesn’t ask questions about what’s going on outside the castrum walls. Maybe he doesn’t know beyond whatever rumors are floating around.

“We about done?”

They’re four malms into the run when he finally asks.

“No.”

If this is the only taste of freedom she gets, she’s going to enjoy it. Even if it’s the same four walls, the same Imperials watching her, the same loop she’s run twelve times already so far. He doesn’t complain.

“Did you really kill Rhitahtyn?”

Rhela’s step falters. It has been easy to gloss over the death and destruction she caused, but having it brought up like this… She nods once, not sure what else she can say.

“It’s hard to imagine. You’re so small.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

She slows to a walk. Even as a mage, she’s stronger than she looks. And when she has control of her magic, she’s a force to be reckoned with. Lots of people have underestimated her because of her size. Many of them have come to regret it.

“Do you want to fight?”

He stops short, eyes wide. The expression makes him look younger than he normally seems, though she’d guess they’re fairly close to the same age.

“Not seriously. Just,” she shrugs, “get some energy out.”

Never mind that they’ve run almost five malms. She’s had so little to do over the past week - two weeks? - that she has energy to burn.

“I don’t think—”

“C’mon, it’s fine.” She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet as she backs toward the center of the yard. She can feel the few others in the space watching her, but she just grins. “Body only, promise I won’t hit that pretty face.”

Hector hesitates moments longer, then follows her into the center, muttering under his breath too quietly for her to hear. He stops a few steps away and they both drop into a fighting stance. She’s not well practiced at hand to hand combat, but she’s good enough. Their first few exchanged hits are relatively soft as they feel each other out. He’s precise, careful, leaving her little opportunity to mount an offensive. Belatedly, she realizes he’s likely a pugilist and that she may have made a mistake starting this.

As the spar wears on, Rhela realizes more observers have gathered. Far more than were in the yard to begin with. Over the harsh breathing, the smack of fists meeting flesh, the occasional grunt when a hit makes its mark, she can hear the dull rumble of conversation.

Something distracts him, only for a moment, but it’s enough for her to land a punch to his solar plexus. She doesn’t give him time to recover before she drags him to the ground with an arm around his neck, both legs wrapped around his torso to pin him. As soon as he taps her arm, she lets go. They roll apart and she’s on her feet first, reaching down to help him up.

“You’re not supposed to let me win, Hector.”

He gives her a tiny shake of his head, straightens up and salutes someone behind her, and she finally notices that the yard has gone completely silent. She should probably turn around.

“Well, I see the rumors of a fight breaking out were mostly unfounded. You’ve caused a fine stir this morning.”

He’s definitely addressing her. Rhela turns to face the speaker, doesn’t recognize the red armor, though that’s hardly a surprise since she’s been more or less confined. And based on everyone standing at attention, he ranks too highly to have been among those she fought trying to breach the castrum.

“You two, with me. The rest of you, get back to... whatever it is you should be doing.”

She’s got half a mind to argue, but she doesn’t want to get Hector in any more trouble than she already has. He trails behind her, and she has to rush to keep up with the armored man’s stride.

Gaius is not in his office when they arrive there, and she’s left alone to wait. And wait. His desk is clear of anything interesting, and after trying a couple of drawers and cabinets and finding them locked, she slumps into his chair to wait some more. It’s much more comfortable than the other chairs in the room.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally opens.

“How nice of you to join me.”

Gaius stands just inside the doorway, staring at her. He’s in his armor, helm under one arm, and she wonders if the Alliance has taken the field again.

“You’re in my chair.”

“Am I?”

Rhela deadpans her reply, and his expression matches. Neither of them budges. She has no intention of moving, and it seems he has no intention of taking a different seat.

“I made one request, and you couldn’t even manage that much.”

It takes her a moment to recall what the request had been.

“In my defense, you said to _try_ not to cause a distraction.”

“And did you try?”

“Will it make you feel better if I say yes?”

He turns away from her without answering and begins removing his outer plate. He’s efficient, deliberate as he takes off each piece and puts it on the armor stand. When he looks at her again she realizes she’s been staring and heat creeps into her cheeks.

“I begin to understand why Eorzea’s champion attained no rank of note in her armies.”

Oh, right. She was technically a corporal in Gridania’s grand company. She had assumed it was largely a symbolic thing, had never really engaged with their operations. He steps around the desk, coming closer to her until she has to crane her neck to look up at him. His eyes are almost white, just a hint of yellow in the irises, she realizes. And the intensity of his stare makes her shrink.

“You are still in my chair.”

Gaius does not shift when she slides out of the chair and she has to edge past him to move to the other side of the desk, feeling less like a warrior and more like a child who has been caught misbehaving.

“Sit.”

She does. Not slouching in the chair like she usually would, almost perched on the edge of it. He raises a brow.

“So you can follow orders.”

She fixates on the edge of the desk, uncomfortable with the shift in the situation. She has the sense that she’s lost control, and quick on the heels of that she wonders if she ever had it in the first place. Again she finds herself compelled to honesty, and again she isn’t sure why.

“If you are keeping me here as a prisoner of war, I would rather be treated as such.”

“You would prefer a cell over your current arrangement?”

“I would prefer to know where I stand.”

He regards her silently, but she can’t bring herself to look up and meet his eyes. Being locked up is not ideal, but at least then she would understand what this is, what her position is. Right now she’s playing with half, less than half, an understanding of the situation. There could be fighting again, they could be using the Ultima Weapon, Eorzea might have already fallen, and she would have no idea. She’s restless, frustrated, and - if she can admit it to herself - scared.

“Why did you surrender?”

“I seem to remember being shot, not surrendering.”

She knows what question he’s actually asking. Why had she even considered it? Why, after fighting against the Empire for weeks, after successfully breaching the Praetorium, had she been willing to lay down her weapon and hear him out? He doesn’t dignify her snark with a response.

“I could have kept fighting, but it never would have ended.” She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Peace, order… Your offer made sense.”

The way he studies her borders on unnerving. His posture is casual, his expression anything but.

“You’re more intelligent than you let on. Why do you hide it?”

Rhela shrugs again. “No one ever asks my opinion.”

It’s true enough. What she doesn’t add is that no one expects her to be smart because of where she’s from, her family history. Everyone just expected her to be quiet and charge into fights when asked. Once it became clear that that was all they wanted of her, Rhela had more or less stopped paying attention. She let the Scions handle the details, and she showed up where and when she was told.

“We’ll begin training tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

The abruptness of it catches her off guard and it takes a moment for her to react. Fortunately, her brain catches up fast enough that he doesn’t have to repeat himself. She has the impression that he would enjoy doing so.

Hector is waiting, alone, when she leaves Gaius’s office. She offers an apologetic smile.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble, did you?”

“Nah, he had money on you anyway.”

“Good thing you let me win, then.”

He grins and starts back down the hallway with her following. She doubts she’ll ever get used to the maze of Garlean architecture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me, and all the lovely people who make these fics possible, on Discord! [Emet-Selch’s Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/K9PW9qv)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Imperialism Bad, but I can’t write a Garlean Empire AU without it.

“Nero tol Scavea, Tribunus Laticlavius, second in command. He’s brilliant, arrogant, and doesn’t suffer fools.”

Hector arrives with breakfast at the usual hour - or she assumes, anyway, she still doesn’t have any way to tell time - and eats with Rhela. This morning’s discussion is about the structure of the XIVth, mostly because of their encounter with the aforementioned Tribunus the day before.

“Livia sas Junius, also a Tribunus. When she’s clear to return to duty you should stay out of her way. She’s vicious, and she...”

He trails off and she tilts her head at him, mouth too full to ask what he was going to say.

“She won’t react well to the Legatus’s interest in you.”

She isn’t sure if she’s more surprised by the fact that he’s implying Gaius is interested in her, or by his knowledge of Livia’s feelings. Then again, the woman had hardly made a secret of it when Rhela had faced her.

“How do you know so much?”

“People talk, I listen.” Hector shrugs. “Below them you have Pilus - no one has taken Rhitahtyn’s place yet. Centurios lead the infantry units, Tesserarius below them, and then the rest of us grunts.”

Rhela nods in understanding. It’s a crash course in the basics of Garlean military, but she’s sure the longer she’s here the more she’ll figure out. The majority of the fighting forces will be conscripts; Ala Mhigans, mostly, given where the XIVth is primarily stationed. Lower class citizens. Half-Garleans like Hector.

“What do you do?”

“Right now, I watch you.”

Something about it doesn’t ring entirely true. Why would they assign some random soldier to guard her? But she enjoys his company and she doesn’t care enough to press.

She finishes her toast and washes it down with what passes for coffee.

“Do you think you could get me books or something? Anything. Staring at the walls gets really boring.”

He laughs as he gets to his feet, taking the tray with him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And a chair. Maybe two if you’re going to keep eating with me.”

“Don’t push it.” He’s still smiling, though.

Gaius sets a gunblade on the table between them and it hits the surface with a heavy thud. Rhela is reaching for it before she even considers what she’s doing, but he grabs her wrist. She wasn’t going to try to use it. Probably.

“What is this?”

“Training.”

She narrows her eyes at him. This isn’t exactly what she had in mind.

“You can fight with one when you know how to maintain them.” He releases her and gestures toward the weapon. “Unload it.”

“You’re giving me a loaded weapon?”

“Always assume a gun is loaded.”

She reaches for it much more tentatively this time, fingers tracing over the wood grip to the cold metal of the barrel. It’s nothing like any weapons she’s seen in Eorzea. Her eyes flick up to his briefly, then back down as she pulls it toward her.

“Don’t be mad if I shoot you by accident.”

“Don’t touch the trigger unless you intend to pull it.”

It takes her a bit of trial and error to find the release for the revolving barrel, but she finally manages to get it loose and pluck the cartridges from their chambers. All empty casings.

“You don’t trust me with live ammunition? I’m hurt.”

“You can have live rounds when you learn to shoot.”

Gaius picks it up again, disassembling it by feel alone, faster than she can process what goes where, and places the pieces on the table.

“Put it back together.”

He offers no guidance, and it takes her an embarrassingly long time to figure it out on her own, only to have him repeat the process. Again. And again. And then have her start disassembling it on her own. She has no idea how long they spend doing that, but finally he seems satisfied and takes the weapon from her.

“Has… anything changed?”

The question isn’t likely to yield anything, but she asks it cautiously anyway. Being in the thick of it and yet somehow so far removed is a strange feeling. She has to imagine if there had been major developments, she would know about it.

“The Eorzean Alliance has expressed willingness to discuss a peaceful resolution.”

She hears the “but” without him having to say it. The Empire does not have allies. Cities either surrender, or they burn.

“They won’t accept Imperial rule, so peace talks are pointless.”

He doesn’t need to say anything, she knows she has the right of it. Pale eyes study her from across the table, and she wonders how he ever came to be called the Black Wolf. He’s too calculating, too deliberate. Predatory, certainly, but the kind of predator you didn’t realize was upon you until it was far, far too late.

“Where would you start?”

She blinks at him in surprise. He said it himself at their last meeting, she has no military experience, nothing that would give weight to her opinions. Still, she considers her answer for a moment.

“Ul’dah.”

“Why?”

This is a test, she realizes. Or an assessment. The answer itself isn’t as important as her reasoning.

“It has the right conditions for political strife. A large division between the rich and the poor that could be exploited. Too many Ala Mhigan refugees among the poorest citizens for them to be used to overthrow the sultanate, but the Syndicate are mostly monetarists. If they could be convinced that siding with the Empire was in their best interests…” 

She bites the inside of her lip, knowing she likely hasn’t said anything that Gaius is not already aware of, and still feeling like she’s betraying a place that she called home.

“Why not Limsa Lominsa or Gridania?”

“Limsa doesn’t provide a significant enough foothold on the continent to be of use for a continued campaign, and controlling the port does little good when most of the trade is done over land. Gridania is largely pacifist and would likely fall with continued attacks, but the Black Shroud makes it difficult to use warmachina and gunships effectively.”

That same half smile that she still doesn’t know how to interpret.

“You were wasted on the Eorzeans.”

She looks away, blushing, though she isn’t entirely sure why. It feels like a compliment, she shouldn’t care… But it sends a little thrill through her all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me, and all the lovely people who make these fics possible, on Discord! [Emet-Selch’s Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/K9PW9qv)


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